


we are far too young and clever

by ohmygodwhy



Series: sweet pea's crush on fangs (and other stories) [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: (aka my biggest weakness), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Found Family, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Movie Nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygodwhy/pseuds/ohmygodwhy
Summary: It’s Toni who stays the night first, because of course Toni stays the night first. It’s Sweet Pea who stays over next, surprisingly.(or: in a shocking turn of events, jughead is the one with a fairly permanent place to stay)





	we are far too young and clever

**Author's Note:**

> listen. i've had this sitting unfinished in my docs since toni first spent the night at the trailer and i found out her uncle kicks her out sometimes. they all deserve this. 
> 
> also if y'all dont know yet, [this](http://riverdale.wikia.com/wiki/Season_2_Minor_Characters#Young_Serpent/)  
> lovely boy is ricky. @ ras where is he? does he even go to school anymore or what??

 

It’s Toni who stays the night first, because of course Toni stays the night first. Helps him clean up his face as much as possible and then kisses him and then watches some old Twilight Zone reruns and takes the bed while he gets the couch because he’s a good host, and also she said that she didn’t wanna sleep the same place she knew FP had passed out drunk many times before.

“You’ll get the same thing with the bed,” he tells her.

“Yeah, but beds don’t hold the same shady energy couches do,” she answers, standing up and stretching. He’d tilted his head in agreement because she was right; there was just something about couches as opposed to beds. At least in a bed you pretty much knew what you were getting. Who knew all the shit that could’ve happened on a couch.

He finds himself thinking about it for a while, his entire face still stinging from the impact of Sweet Pea’s stupid brass knuckles, because this couch is probably older than he is, until he eventually decides that he doesn’t wanna know and works very hard to fall asleep.

They go out to breakfast the next morning and she pays because he still hasn’t found another part time job yet. She also tells him she isn’t planning to be a rebound or anything like that, which he respects.

“If your uncle ever locks you out again,” he says, and she does this little tilt of her eyebrow that has him going, “Okay, _when_ your uncle locks you out again, you know where I am.”

“I do,” she agrees.

She stays over two or three more times in the next two weeks or so, taking the bed each time because Jughead’s a decent person who’s slept in worse places than a couch that smells vaguely like alcohol and should probably be cleaned one of these days, and Toni always seems refreshed and satisfied the next morning. Jughead likes seeing her like that, even if his back hurts like a bitch.

She helps make breakfast each time, too, and talks him through some physics homework he was having trouble understanding, and watches a few conspiracy theory documentaries on the Netflix account Jughead mooches off of (it’s the Andrews’), so he’s not that hung up about it. It’s nice, having someone else around sometimes.

He says as much, over the sizzle of bacon cooking on the skillet, and Toni smiles at him a little and says “It’s better than my uncles place for sure. You’re not bad company, Jones.”

He smiles back.

*

It’s Sweet Pea who stays over next, surprisingly. Just drops by one evening and says he needs a place to crash for the night. The heat went out at his brothers apartment, and there’s not enough room for Sweet Pea to stay at his brother’s girlfriend’s with him because her friend is visiting from out of town and her place isn’t much bigger than theirs. Or something like that. Sweet Pea isn’t big on details. And Jughead has no qualms about making him take the couch.

“Toni got the bed,” Sweet Pea says, apparently offended.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Why does she get the bed?”

“I’m not gonna make Toni sleep on the couch. And I’m not letting you kick me out of my bed. Your ass can take the couch—payback for beating the shit out of me.”

Sweet pea rolls his eyes, “I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

“I was bleeding.”

The guy just shrugs, “You didn’t break anything.”

“We have a bathtub, if you wanna sleep there.”

“Fuck you, I’ll take your stupid couch.”

Jughead laughs, and Sweet Pea flips him off and throws his jacket on the middle of couch like he’s claiming his territory. Overdramatic, he thinks but doesn’t say, because Sweet Pea walks and sits and talks like he has to make it known that certain things belong to him—like his seat at the lunch table or his motorcycle or the desk near the window of the lit classroom. It’s just something that he does.

So Jughead just rolls his eyes and goes to take the trash out to the big dumpster near the back of the trailer park, just so he has something to do. When he comes back, Sweet Pea is ransacking his kitchen.

“This all you have?” he asks when Jughead swings the door shut behind him, peering into the refrigerator, “For real?”

“I mean, you can go buy your own food,” Jughead says.

Sweet Pea just hums, like the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “Nah. I’ll just take the leftovers.”

“The fuck you will,” Jughead says, very protective of his leftovers from Pop’s, “I paid for that.”

“I’ll pay you back, then,” he says, rolling his eyes, but he sounds serious enough. Favor for a favor, Jughead guesses.

“Fine,” Jughead concedes, grabbing a box of Ritz crackers from the cabinet that Archie had brought by, “It better come with a milkshake.”

Sweet Pea laughs a little, but it’s not a mean laugh, “Sure.”

He flicks the TV on and sits on the far end of the couch so Sweet Pea can have his stupid territory. He’s halfway through the first roll of crackers when Sweet Pea tosses the bag into the trash and says, “Sorry about hitting you so hard.”

Jughead must’ve been rubbing at his bruise or something. Or maybe he’d sounded too mean, before.

“No, you’re not,” he still says bluntly.

“No I’m not,” he agrees. “You were really annoying for a while there.”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“For what it’s worth, you annoy me way less, now.”

“That’s cool. That mean no more brass knuckles?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Don’t know why the ‘I guess so’ is there. But good to know.”

Sweet Pea nods, crosses his arms like he’s expecting something.

“You’re still taking the couch.”

“Fuck you.”

*

It’s Ricky, next.

They have a group report to work on, for physics, and they both put it off, so it’s due in like two days and neither of them have started. Well, Jughead’s opened a google doc, stared at it for a while and then titled it _shitty science project_ , but that’s about it. It’s more than Ricky’s done, because Ricky’s been busy going to school and then working the night shift at his shitty job at the grocery, because he had to pay bail for Sweet Pea and Toni and a few other Serpents after that raid Keller and the mayor pulled and ‘ _Hot Dog’s gotta eat’_ , like Ricky doesn’t, which Jughead thinks is ridiculous.

Hot Dog has actually been staying at the trailer, because Ricky’s at his mom’s house this week, and Ricky’s mom doesn’t like Hot Dog. And neither does Toni’s uncle, or Fangs’ foster family, and Sweet Pea doesn’t have the space for him, so that leaves the trailer. Which is becoming a trend.

They go out to dinner after Ricky’s shift ends—Pop’s, of course, which Jughead has been trying to get everyone to come to more often, because it’s Pop’s and Pop doesn’t care what side of town you’re from as long as you eat his food. Jughead brings his laptop so they can find Credible Sources™ and pick out the accurate bits.

“We could just copy and paste the important stuff,” Ricky says around a fry.

“That’s plagiarism, dude.”

“Oh yeah. Pretty sure Mr. Waters plagiarizes most of his lessons and like all of his tests, though.”

“You don’t wanna stoop to Mr. _Waters’_ level.”

Ricky tilts his head in acknowledgement, “Point. We’ll change a few words and flip the sentences around.”

“Lazy.”

“Smart. I wanna sleep tonight, man.”

“I can do the paper, if you wanna do the powerpoint,” Jughead offers, because Ricky really does look tired. His hair isn’t as shiny today. Maybe the stuffy grocery store air is bad for wannabe greaser gel.

“You sure? It’s a four page paper.”

“I’m writing a book,” Jughead reminds him, “I’ll be fine.”

They get back to the trailer just as the sun is starting to set, that quick way it does in the winter, like it’s there one minute and gone the next. The sunset is dragging out today, all pale blues and pinks like the cotton candy flavored popsicles Fred used to crack open in the summertime.

The door creaks open, and Hot Dog comes running. Ricky is the first one through the door to greet him.

“Hot Dog!” he says, lighting up; he crouches down and lets the dog lick all over his face because he’s disgusting, “Has this strange man been treating you okay?”

“I’ve been treating him great,” Jughead says, stepping carefully over the two of them and dropping his backpack onto the table, “He eats better than I do.”

“As it should be.”

Jughead flips him off absently as a response, and pulls out his laptop.

“You’re gonna write it now?” Ricky asks in disbelief.

Jughead shrugs, “Might as well get it over with today. Don’t wanna stress at the last minute tomorrow.”

“True. I don’t have a laptop, though, so I don’t know how I’ll work on the powerpoint.”

Jughead hums in acknowledgement. Glances at the clock, which says it’s barely seven, and glances at Ricky yawning and stroking Hot Dog’s fur the way Scott strokes the carpet when he’s high.

“If I finish up now you can do it tomorrow. You should probably go to bed.”

Ricky snorts, “It’s like seven.”

“You slept for like three hours last night—you complained about it all day.”

Ricky makes a vague noise of protest, “I came over to work on the project, though.”

“And you forgot your laptop.” Jughead points out, smiling.

“I was tired!”

“Go to bed, then.”

“What if you get lonely?”

“I spent a month sleeping in a school closet. I think I’ll be fine.”

Ricky smiles a little bit; he’s heard the story of one of the school janitors stealing milk from the school kitchen and sleeping in the student lounge before. He also said that having a ‘student lounge’ with a whole ass vending machine was pretentious.

“Okay, fine,” he relents, holding Hot Dog to his chest like a loving mother.

“You want the couch, or the bed?”

“The bed?” Ricky raises a tired eyebrow, “Thought only Toni got the bed.”

“Sweet Pea’s just bitter I made him take the couch. Plus, you’re super tired—I don’t wanna keep you awake.”

“You’re so nice,” Ricky says.

Jughead just smiles a little, shakes his head. “Bathroom’s to the left. You can shower in the morning, if you want.”

“Thanks, man,” Ricky says, clapping him on the back and then shoving a hand under his hat to ruffle his hair. He’s a very affectionate person when he’s tired. And when he’s drunk. And when he’s not.

“No problem,” Jughead says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Night.”

“Night,” Ricky says. Hot Dog trails after him, which means there’s gonna be dog hair all over the bed again.

Whatever, he thinks, opening the shitty science project doc, he’s scraped up enough money to wash the sheets in a few days anyways.

* 

Fangs is more considerate about the whole ‘asking in advance’ thing. He approaches Jughead after school where he’s waiting for Toni, and asks if he can stay over tonight. Says he can give him a ride home after his Red and Black stuff (which is still going, despite the teacher in charge of it being outed as a drug dealer and then shot in his cell and all that), which Jughead isn’t gonna say no to, because his motorcycle busted something and he still hasn’t asked Mr. A if he knows how to fix motorcycles yet.

He doesn’t offer why, and Jughead doesn’t really think to ask until later, when he’s searching the kitchen for something edible. Fangs is hanging up his jacket on the rack near the door instead of throwing it all over the place. What a gentleman.

“Your family out of town or something?” Jughead asks.

“Nah,” Fangs says, “I just thought I’d get out of the house.”

“And come here?” he asks, thinking of the way he and Sweet Pea are joined at the hip most days.

“Yeah,” is all he says, “Heard it’s a good place to crash,” and that’s that. Jughead knows when not to push, anyways.

“Well, we’re having Kraft mac and cheese for dinner, if that’s cool with you.”

“Sweet, I love Kraft,” Fangs says, more excited about this than he was about about milkshakes on the house yesterday, and Jughead wonders if he just has bad priorities. But he also thinks that Fangs has a very nice smile, so he can probably let the Pop’s thing go.

“Cool, because that’s literally all we have right now.”

Fangs makes a vaguely understanding sound, and helps him make it. Fills up the pot and sets it out to soak afterwards while Jughead tries to finish his calc homework.

He finds out that Fangs doesn’t talk much, but that’s fine, because Jughead doesn’t talk a whole lot either—not as loud as Sweet Pea, at least, and not as much as Ricky. Fangs doesn’t talk just to talk, is the thing, and Jughead appreciates that about him.

He’s also apparently great at calculus. He walks him through a few problems step by step in a way that makes sense a hell of a lot more than Mr. Ryans.

“You should raise your hand more often,” Jughead says offhandedly, still vaguely in awe.

Fangs just shrugs, “Mr Ryans doesn’t take me seriously.”

Fangs with his muscles and his height and his intimidating walk. Soft hands and careful smile.

“That’s dumb,” Jughead says, suddenly angry, “He probably just doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Fangs smiles a little at that, “Sweet Pea thinks he’s an alien or something—says he’s too dumb to be a robot.”

“Aliens probably would have trouble with related rates,” Jughead agrees. “Sweet Pea might be right about something for once.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“I only speak the truth.”

Fangs laughs, just a little bit. Not as loud as Sweet Pea can make him laugh, but it’s good enough for him.

*

They come in pairs sometimes—Ricky and Hot Dog being a pair—or Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea come over to terrorize his home or have movie marathons that would’ve been so much more fun if the Drive-In was still open, but are still pretty nice. He and Toni make loud commentary the whole time and Sweet Pea and Fangs throw snacks at the TV screen and also each other.

Hot Dog does rounds, apparently, with anyone who has the room, because he’s the mascot so he gets treated like royalty or whatever. He also likes sleeping at the foot of the bed and doesn’t bark at every other noise, so Jughead doesn’t mind very much.

Archie stays over once or twice, when he can take a break from his crazy ‘varsity football team, dad almost got shot, started and then disbanded a rich kid vigilante gang, still writing songs and kissing Veronica all over the place’ life to visit his humble abode. He doesn’t fault him for it, because he’s been kind of a mess lately, too.

The other serpents don’t really like him very much, after that whole ‘waved a gun around the Southside and then got into a real life street brawl thing’, so they make a wide berth whenever he’s around.

It’s kinda funny, actually, the way Sweet Pea walks in one day, sees Archie sitting on the couch, flips him off and walks back out again.

And then sticks his head back in just to say, “I’m not scared of you, by the way. I just don’t wanna have to breathe the same air as you. Also, you kick like a bitch.”

Just for good measure. Jughead hears the roar of his bike starting up right after, and laughs for a solid minute.

On the first day of December, a bunch of Serpents drag an actual tiny Christmas tree into the trailer after them. They find a place in the corner of the living room to shove it in, and help decorate the rest of the trailer with lights and fake snowflakes and a picture of a menorah on the window for good measure. The pine needles will be a pain in the ass to clean up, but it looks nice.

It feels nice. Being a part of something. Give and get back.

Once FP gets out of prison, the visits dwindle to a stop. Until it turns out that FP is spending more time at the bar or out running shady ass ‘errands’, and then they start up again in earnest. No one wants to sleep in their boss’ bed while he’s around, but no one has any problem with raiding his kitchen when he’s not. Which is often. Unfortunately.

“Is it my fault he’s drinking again?” He asks Toni late one night.

She shrugs, “Lots of factors, probably.”

“You don’t have to sugar coat it.”

“He’s an alcoholic. You don’t quit just like that. You would know better than I would.”

“Yeah, I guess I would,” he admits, “I was just hoping this time it would stick, y’know? And that whole Peabody mess I got us into, I feel like that’s what…”

“It was his own choice,” Toni says, “I know it’s hard to accept, but the people you love’ll make bad decisions, and sometimes you can’t change that. It’s not your job to take care of him.”

Jughead takes a minute to let that sink in. He knows she right, logically. He’s thought it, before, on the worst nights, the ones where FP would get angry at everything and everyone or the ones where he’d get sad and lost and scared and stumble all over himself and Jughead would have to drag him to the bathroom and then the bed like he was the adult and not thirteen or fifteen or sixteen, or. He stops that train of thought right there. He’s not in the mood for exploring his childhood trauma any more than he needs to at the moment.

Toni is right. But he still feels the vague need to defend his dad, like he always has. It’s not his dad’s fault he grew up here. Maybe his fault he lost his job but it was also Fred’s fault and maybe Jughead’s fault for falling down the stairs and busting his ear and maybe it was mom’s fault and maybe it was the alcohol’s. And addiction is hard to get over.

When he was nine, his neighbor a few trailers over OD-ed on heroin or something strong like that. He watched the police cars from the back window of the trailer, hands pressed against the glass; his dad found him there and told him to mind his own business and let the kid’s mama mourn in peace. He got drunk the night after and mom told him he’d end up just like that boy someday, and how could you do that to your kids, how could you do that to me.

Addiction changes a person. Maybe he hopes that this person isn’t who FP really is, or something stupid and childish like that.

Whatever, he thinks, it doesn’t matter.

Instead of any of this, he says, “Yeah, I know. I still wish I could fix things.”

“Yeah,” Toni says, and she looks like she’s lost in her own thoughts, too, “I know.”

*

FP says, “Maybe this is isn’t gonna work out, you and me living together,” and “maybe you should go stay with Fred or something,” which maybe has Jughead’s heart in his chest because he doesn’t think that would be a good idea, because Fred probably wouldn’t be overtly annoyed but he would wanna know what happened and Jughead isn't really up for telling Fred, bless his soul, how he got his dad roped into a drug trade business and then sliced a lady’s tattoo off. So, maybe not.

His dad looks so disappointed, is the thing, like he himself hasn’t done that and worse before. And Jughead knows he was FP’s _hope for the future_ , or whatever, because he was ‘smart’ and ‘creative’ and ‘could probably get into college, if you worked hard enough, maybe publish one of your stories, someday’. But he also thinks that it was kind of unfair to put everything on him in the first place, and also that Jughead did most of what he did _for_ him, because everything was going to shit, so he doesn’t think he’s completely to blame.

In the end, FP doesn’t kick him out and Jughead doesn’t pack up and leave again like he did back in February. FP heads to the bar instead, which isn’t much better, but that’s just how things are, now, apparently.

Jughead doesn’t think he wants to be here very much when his dad comes home later. He hasn’t interacted with drunk FP in a few months, now, and he doesn’t really wanna start the trend up again. He thinks maybe he should go to Fred’s. But then thinks that he probably wants to spend the few days before Christmas with Archie, stress-free, and decides probably not. And the Drive-In’s long gone, so he can’t stay there for the night.

He shoots a text to Ricky, who says that Toni’s uncle is out of town for the next few days, if he wants to ask her. Jughead thinks it’s kinda fucked up that he’s not gonna spend Christmas with his niece, but he’s not in the best place to judge.

It takes a good two minutes to convince himself to just ask her. When he does, she responds within five minutes.

 _did something happen?_ she asks, and he just says _some stuff with my dad_ , and she leaves it at that.

He walks, because his dad took the truck and his stupid bike is still busted. He’s halfway frozen when he knocks on the door, but the heat is cranked up high enough that it hits him in the face when the door swings open.

She grins at the way he steps in quickly and says, “My uncle’s stingy as hell about the heat, but he’s not here to stop me this time.”

“You gonna make me take the couch?” he asks, leaving his backpack by the door.

“You could take my uncle’s bed, if you want.”

“No,” he says after thinking about it for a moment, “That’d be weird.”

Toni smiles, “That leaves the couch, then. It’s not as nasty as yours, don’t worry.”

It really isn’t, Jughead finds when he sits down. It’s actually very comfortable. He wouldn’t mind sleeping on this couch every night.

“Your Northside buddy say you couldn’t crash at his place?” she asks, settling down next to him.

Jughead shrugs, “I didn’t wanna bother them.”

“But you’re willing to bother me?”

“I can go, if—”

“Relax, Jug, I’m just teasing. You let me take your bed all the time, it’s no big deal.”

“If you say so,” he relents. “It’s a nice house.”

“Nicer than a trailer, I guess.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something else, when there’s knock on the door.

“Pizza?” he asks, perking up. The door swings open and oh, Jughead thinks, disappointed, it’s just Sweet Pea. And Fangs, which isn’t as disappointing.

“Thought we could have a movie night or something,” she says when he glances at her.

“Krampus is on at nine,” Sweet Pea says, plopping down next to him.

“The one about that evil Santa thing that drags naughty kids to hell? I’ve seen it.”

“Well, I haven’t,” he says, clicking the TV on, “So we’re gonna watch it.”

“Any suggestions for after?” Fangs asks.

Jughead thinks for a moment when he realizes Fangs is talking to him, “There’s this one holiday-themed horror movie on Netflix. It’s kinda weird, but it’s pretty good.”

“Are we doing a Christmas horror theme here, or what?” Toni asks, vaguely amused.

“Tis the season, I guess. You know any other Christmas horror ones?”

“I don’t,” she admits.

“Does the Grinch count as a horror movie?” Fangs asks from the kitchen, where he’d gone to look through the fridge. Jughead was glad to know his wasn’t the only kitchen being regularly stolen from.

“I don’t think so.”

“I dunno,” Sweet Pea says, “If there was some hairy green dude stealing my Christmas tree, I think I’d be pretty freaked out.”

“Okay, that’s true. But I’m not watching _How The Grinch Stole Christmas._ Archie’ll probably make me watch it in a few days, anyways. It’s one of his stupid favorite movies.”

Sweet Pea snorts, “Why, ‘cause he ruins fun shit, too?”

Jughead shoves a pillow at him, “‘Cause believes in the magic of Christmas or whatever. He used to get teary-eyed about the dude’s heart growing like three sizes when he heard people singing, or however that happens.”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas used to give Sweet Pea nightmares,” Fangs chimes in helpfully, because Sweet Pea is laughing a little too hard about Archie’s soft heart.

“Fuck you,” he calls, and Jughead laughs.

“I think Casper the friendly fucking ghost has a Christmas special,” Toni says, scrolling through her phone, “If we’re still doing horror.”

“Casper the friendly fucking ghost,” Jughead laughs. “I think the Power Rangers do, too.”

“Power Rangers,” she confirms, reading off the screen, “Mickey's Once Upon A Christmas, Mickey's _Twice_ Upon A Christmas, Mickey’s Magical Christmas—okay, a _lot_ of Mickey’s. Cat in the Hat, _four_ Thomas the fuckin’ Tank Engines, _another_ Power Rangers—why does everything have a Christmas special? Why aren’t there any Hanukkah specials, or like, New Year’s specials?”

“You can make tons of money off Christmas,” Jughead points out, catching the bag of Skittles Fangs tosses him, “People eat that shit up.”

“ _Five_ Thomas the fuckin’ Tank Engines,” Toni says, shaking her head in disbelief, “This is ridiculous.”

“We should watch all of them,” Sweet Pea says.

“No we should not.”

“We should watch Nightmare Before Christmas,” Fangs says sweetly. Sweet Pea throws a pillow at him, and Jughead laughs.

Toni sides with Fangs, and Sweet Pea says he’s not fucking afraid of some movie anymore, he just doesn’t want one of the songs to get stuck in his head. Fangs laughs, one of his big laughs that only Sweet Pea can seem to drag out of him, and Toni says that if he’s not scared then they’re definitely watching it.

Jughead watches them for a moment, something surprisingly fond in his chest. Toni turns to ask for his opinion, and Jughead decides it must just be the fact that he hasn’t been in a house with heat in a while. Probably just getting to him.

“I love that movie,” he says, “That makes three against one.”

Sweet Pea darts across the room to grab the pillow he threw, just so he can throw it again.

“I knew letting you into the gang was a bad idea,” he says, but there’s no real heat behind it, and he’s smiling, so Jughead doesn’t take it to heart.

 

**Author's Note:**

> the movie jug was talking about is called Holidays and it's.......really something. if you ever watch it, the easter story is SCARY
> 
> comments clear my skin and keep me young and radiant


End file.
